by Max Weber
The new meaning of the word corresponded to a new idea—a product of the Reformation. This is generally recognized. True, as early as the Middle Ages, there were already certain indications of the high estimation of secular everyday labor which is implicit in this concept of the calling—we shall have more to say about this later. But what was definitely new was the estimation of fulfillment of duty within secular callings as being of the absolutely highest level possible for moral activity. It was this that led, inevitably, to the idea of the religious significance of secular everyday labor and gave rise to the concept of the calling. So, in the concept of “calling” is expressed that central dogma of all Protestant denominations which rejects the Catholic division of Christian moral commands into “praecepta” and “consilia,” and recognizes, as the only means of living a life pleasing to God, not the surpassing of innerworldly [innerweltlich] morality through the pursuit of monastic asceticism, but exclusively the fulfillment of innerworldly duties which arise from the individual’s station in life. This then becomes one’s “calling.”
Luther [40] develops this idea in the course of the first decade of his reforming activity. At first, in line with the predominant medieval tradition as represented by men like Thomas Aquinas [41], he believes secular work, although willed by God, to be creaturely in character; it is the indispensable basis in nature for the life of faith [42], as morally neutral as eating and drinking. But as he develops the “sola fide” idea more clearly in its logical consistency, and becomes increasingly antagonistic toward the Catholic “evangelical counsels” of monasticism, which he sees as “dictated by the Devil,” the calling begins to grow in importance. The monastic style of life is now not only completely worthless as a means of justification before God (that much is self-evident), he also sees it as a manifestation of unloving egoism and an abdication from secular duties. In contrast, labor in a secular calling appears as the outward expression of Christian charity. This view is based in particular on the argument that division of labor forces each individual to work for others, an extremely otherworldly argument which is almost grotesquely at variance with Adam Smith’s well-known dictum. [43] Little more is heard of this essentially scholastic justification, however, and Luther returns, with increasing emphasis, to the point that the fulfillment of innerworldly duties is absolutely the only way to please God, that this and only this is God’s will, and that therefore every legitimate occupation [Beruf] is quite simply of equal value. [44] It is indeed beyond doubt and may be regarded as a truism that this moral quality ascribed to life in a secular calling [Berufsleben] was one of the most momentous achievements of the Reformation, and was Luther’s own contribution. However, the practical significance of this achievement is in general more dimly felt than clearly recognized.
First of all, it is scarcely necessary to state that Luther cannot really be regarded as having an inner affinity with the “capitalist spirit” in the sense in which we have hitherto understood this word. Even those within the Church who are keenest to praise what the Reformation “achieved” are today in no way sympathetic to capitalism in any sense whatever. Even more certainly, Luther himself would without any doubt have rejected any affinity with a philosophy such as that espoused by Franklin. We should not, however, cite his accusations against the great merchants, the Fuggers [45] and their like, as a sign of this. The struggle against the (de jure or de facto) privileged position of certain of the great trading companies in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries can best be compared to the modern campaign against the trusts. In itself, it is no more the expression of a traditionalist attitude than is the latter.
Cromwell, too, wrote after the Battle of Dunbar (September 1650) to the Long Parliament: “Be pleased to reform the abuses of all professions: and if there be any one that makes many poor to make a few rich, that suits not a Commonwealth.” And yet elsewhere we find him animated by a quite specific “capitalist” way of thinking. [46]
On the other hand, in his numerous attacks on usury and the taking of interest, Luther expresses unambiguous views on the nature of capitalism which, compared with late scholasticism, are, from the capitalist point of view, quite “backward.” [47] In this category belongs in particular, of course, the argument concerning the unproductive nature of money, an argument that had already been dealt with by Antoninus of Florence. But there is no need for us to go into detail here. The main point is: the idea of the “calling” in the religious sense was capable of producing very different results for the innerworldly conduct of life. The authority of the Bible, where Luther believed he found this idea, was, on the whole, more favorable toward a traditionalist interpretation. In particular the Old Testament, which enjoins the exceeding of innerworldly morality only in a few individual instances, expressed a similar religious idea in a strictly traditionalist manner: everyone should “earn their own living” and leave the godless to run after profit: that is the sense of all the passages which deal directly with the affairs of the world. Only the Talmud adopts, in part—though not in principle—a different standpoint. The personal attitude of Jesus is summed up in classical purity by the words “Give us this day our daily bread,” and the element of radical rejection of the world implied by his use of the phrase “μαμονάs τῆs άδηκίαs,”30 ruled out any direct linkage of the modern idea of the calling [Berufsgedanken] with him personally. [48] Thanks to the eschatological expectations of the first generations of Christians, it is true to say that the “apostolic age” of Christianity, as recorded in the New Testament, especially in the words of Paul himself, was either indifferent to secular working life [Berufsleben] or, like the Old Testament, essentially traditionalist. Since everyone was awaiting the coming of the Lord, then let everyone remain in the estate [Stand] and the secular occupation [Hantierung] in which the “call” of the Lord has found him, and continue to labor as before: thus he will not be a burden to the brethren, and in any case it will only be for a short while. Luther’s reading of the Bible was colored by his outlook at any given time, and in the course of his development between about 1518 and about 1530, this not only remained traditionalist, but also became more and more traditionalist. [49]
In the early years of his reforming activity, his view, resulting from his essentially creaturely estimation of the calling, was one of Pauline eschatological indifference toward the nature of innerworldly activity, such as that expressed in 1 Corinthians 7. [50] One could attain salvation in any station of life [Stand], and on life’s brief pilgrimage it was futile to set any store by the nature of one’s occupation. And the striving after material gain which exceeded one’s own needs, and thus only seemed possible at the expense of others, must therefore necessarily be regarded as reprehensible. [51] As he became increasingly involved in the affairs of the world, he came to value labor in a calling more highly. At the same time, the concrete occupation of the individual became increasingly a special command of God to him to discharge the duties of this concrete situation, into which divine providence had directed him. After his struggles with the “zealots” and the peasant riots, the objective historical order into which the individual had been placed by God became for him more and more the direct outflow of the divine will. [52] This ever-stronger emphasis on the role of providence, in individual events of life as well [as public affairs], led him increasingly to a traditionalist stance, one that corresponded to the idea of “destiny.” The individual should on principle remain in the calling and station in which God has placed him, and should keep his earthly striving within the limits of his allotted station in life. If economic traditionalism was at first a result of Pauline indifference, it later came to flow from an ever-more intense belief in providence [53] that identifies unconditional obedience to God [54] with unconditional submission to the situation in which one has been placed. Thus Luther never arrived at a connection resting on a fundamentally new basis in principle between work in a calling and religious principles. [55] Purity of doctrine as the sole infallib
le criterion of the Church, to which increasingly he held fast after the battles of the 1520s, was enough in itself to frustrate the development of new perspectives in the area of ethics.
Thus the concept of the calling remained, for Luther, bound to tradition. [56] The calling was something which man had to accept as divine decree; it was something to which he had to “submit”—this connotation took precedence over the other idea present, namely, that work in a calling was a (or rather the) divinely appointed task. [57] And orthodox Lutheranism, as it developed, stressed this feature even more. The only ethical advance was a negative one: the ending of the need to surpass innerworldly duties by ascetic ones. At the same time, however, obedience toward the authorities and submission to one’s station in life was preached. [58] As we shall discuss in greater detail later [59], the German mystics did a great deal of preparatory work on the idea of the calling in the Lutheran sense. Thus Tauler emphasized the fundamentally equal value of spiritual and secular callings and accorded less value to the traditional forms of gaining merit from ascetic works. [60] This was due to the overriding importance of the ecstatic and contemplative reception of the divine spirit by the soul. In a certain sense, Lutheranism even represented a step backward from the mystics, insofar as in the case of Luther—and more so in the case of his Church—the psychological bases of a rational ethic of the calling had become rather insecure in comparison with the mystics, whose views on this point have something in common with both the Pietist and to some extent the Quaker psychology of faith. [61] Furthermore—as we propose to demonstrate—Luther was suspicious of the element of ascetic self-discipline [in the mystics]. This smacked of sanctification by works31 [Werkheiligkeit] and as such was increasingly discouraged in his Church.
The mere notion of the “calling” as Luther understood it, then—this much has surely been established by now—was, as far as we can tell so far, of no more than dubious relevance to what we are seeking. This does not mean at all that the Lutheran form of new ordering of religious life has no practical significance for the subjects under our consideration. Clearly, though, it cannot be directly derived from Luther’s position and that of his Church with regard to the calling in the world, and is by no means as easy to grasp as may be the case with other manifestations of Protestantism. Our best course of action, then, will be to proceed to consider those forms of Protestantism in which a connection between practical life and the religious starting point can be more readily discerned than for Luther-anism.
The outstanding part played by Calvinism and of the Protestant sects in the history of capitalist development has already been mentioned. Just as Luther found a “different spirit” from his own alive in Zwingli,32 so also did his spiritual descendants in Calvinism. Certainly Catholicism has always, right up to the present, regarded Calvinism as the real enemy. No doubt there are political reasons for this, for although the Reformation would have been inconceivable without Luther’s personal religious development and has always borne the stamp of his personality, his work would never have achieved outward permanence without Calvinism. The reason for the revulsion felt by Catholics and Lutherans alike lies in the ethical peculiarity of Calvinism. Even the most cursory glance reveals that a completely different kind of relationship has here been created between religious life and earthly action than in either Catholicism or Lutheranism. This is apparent even in literature that employs specifically religious motifs. Consider, for example, the conclusion of the Divine Comedy, where the poet in Paradise is struck dumb as, all desires fulfilled, he contemplates the divine mysteries. Then compare this with the conclusion of the poem that has become known as the “Divine Comedy of Puritanism.” Milton concludes the final canto of “Paradise Lost” after the description of the expulsion from Paradise as follows:
They, looking back, all th’ eastern side beheld
Of Paradise, so late their happy seat,
Waved over by that flaming brand; the gate
With dreadful faces thronged and fiery arms.
Some natural tears they dropped, but wiped them soon;
The world was all before them, where to choose
Their place of rest, and Providence their guide.
They, hand in hand, with wandering steps and slow,
Through Eden took their solitary way.
And shortly before, Michael had said to Adam:
. . . Only add
Deeds to thy knowledge answerable; add faith,
Add virtue, patience, temperance; add love,
By name to come called charity, the soul
Of all the rest: then wilt thou not be loath
To leave this Paradise, but shalt possess
A Paradise within thee, happier far.33
Anyone can sense immediately that this mightiest expression of earnest Puritan worldliness, that is, valuing life as a task to be accomplished, would have been impossible in the mouth of a medieval writer. But neither is it in accord with Lutheranism, as expressed, for example, in Luther’s and Paul Gerhard’s chorales. We propose at this point to replace this indefinite feeling with a rather more precise formulation and to inquire concerning the inner reasons for these differences. Appeals to the “national character” are not only a mere confession of ignorance, but are in this instance completely inappropriate. To attribute a single “national character” to seventeenth-century Englishmen would be simply historically wrong. “Cavaliers” and “Roundheads” felt themselves to be radically different kinds of people, not simply two different parties, and anyone who studies the subject closely would be compelled to agree with them. [62] Conversely, no distinction can be found between the character of the English merchant adventurers and that of the old Hanseatic traders, nor indeed is there any discernible difference between the English and the German character in the late Middle Ages which cannot be immediately explained by their differing political destinies. It is only the power of religious movements—not they alone, but primarily—that has created those differences of which we are aware today.
If, accordingly, while investigating the relationships between the old Protestant ethic and the development of the capitalist spirit, we take as our starting point what was created by Calvin, Calvinism, and the Puritan sects, this should not be taken to mean that we expect to find that one of the founders or representatives of these religious communities in any sense saw as the aim of their life’s work the awakening of what we are here calling the “capitalist spirit.” We can hardly imagine that any of them would have considered the striving for worldly goods, as an end in itself, as an ethical value. There is, however, one thing that we must once and for all hold on to. Ethical programs of reform have never been of central concern to any of the “Reformers”—among whom for our purposes we have to include men such as Menno [Simons], George Fox,34 and Wesley.35 They are not the founders of societies of “ethical culture” or representatives of humanitarian programs of social reform or of cultural ideals. The salvation of souls and this alone is at the heart of their life and work. Their ethical goals and the practical effects of their teaching are all anchored firmly here and are the consequences of purely religious motives. And we shall therefore have to be prepared for the cultural effects of the Reformation to be in large measure—perhaps even, from our particular point of view, predominantly—unforeseen and indeed unwished for consequences of the work of the Reformers, often far removed from, or even in virtual opposition to, everything that they themselves had in mind.
The following studies could, then, perhaps play a modest part in illustrating the manner in which “ideas” become effective in history. This purpose is the source of the justification for including them in this journal, which does not itself normally engage in purely historical work. In order, however, that no misunderstandings arise concerning the sense in which, it is claimed, purely nonmaterial [ideell] motives become effective, we propose to conclude this lengthy investigation with a few further thoughts.
It must be stressed that these studies are n
ot in any way intended as an attempt to evaluate Reformation thought, whether in terms of social politics or religion. We are constantly dealing, for our purposes, with aspects of the Reformation that must appear peripheral and indeed external to the religious consciousness. For we are merely attempting some clarification of the nature of that element which religious motives have contributed to the fabric of the development of our modern material culture, which has grown up out of innumerable individual historical themes. We are merely asking which of certain characteristic elements of this culture might be attributable to the influence of the Reformation as historical cause. In doing this we must of course reject any notion that economic changes could have led to the Reformation as a “historically necessary development.” Innumerable historical constellations, especially purely political pro-cesses, which not only do not fit into any economic “law,” but fit into no economic scheme of any kind, had to come together in order for the newly created churches to be able to continue to exist at all. On the other hand, however, we have no intention of defending any such foolishly doctrinaire thesis as that the “capitalist spirit” (as always in the provisional sense of the word in which we are using it), let alone capitalism itself, could only arise as a result of certain influences of the Reformation. The very fact that certain important forms of capitalist business are considerably older than the Reformation would invalidate such a thesis. We intend, rather, to establish whether and to what extent religious influences have in fact been partially responsible for the qualitative shaping and the quantitative expansion of that “spirit” across the world, and what concrete aspects of capitalist culture originate from them. In view of the tremendous confusion of reciprocal influences emanating from the material base, the social and political forms of organization, and the spiritual content of the cultural epochs of the Reformation, the only possible way to proceed is to first investigate whether and in what points particular elective affinities between certain forms of religious belief and the ethic of the calling can be identified. At the same time, the manner and general direction in which, as a result of such elective affinities, the religious movement influenced the development of material culture will be clarified as far as possible. Only then can the attempt be made to estimate the degree to which the historical origins of elements of modern culture should be attributed to those religious motives and to what extent to others.
